Fine
by summerofsoaps
Summary: A couple weeks ago, Olivia wanted Dante and Lulu to come over to Johnny's apartment for one big, awkward family dinner. It never happened on the show, but in my head it totally did, sometime before Wednesday December 2nd. One shot.


"This was a bad idea," Dante whines. Again. You love the man, but honestly. He needs to shut up.

"We'll be fine," you lie, even though you can already taste the awkwardness, coated thick and bitter on your tongue.

"Oh, sure, it's just a little family dinner with my mom and her lover, your mobster ex-boyfriend. That's perfectly normal."

"I didn't say it was normal," you snap, and it's true: normal is for other people, not you, not Spencers. Your boyfriend's mother, who's dating your ex: that's a level of near incestuous complexity that would only happen to your family. "I said we'd be fine."

And you're always fine. You and Dante are fine, and everything that touches the two of you fails to leave a mark. You tell yourself that's the way you like it.

* * *

Olivia answers the door. She's wearing a severely low cut sweater, and when she pulls you to her for a hug you can feel the smooth, overheated tops of her breasts against your collarbone. You pull away as quickly as you can without giving offense, because, well, ewww.

"Lulu! You look so beautiful tonight!" There's a hint of wine on her breath, and mixed with her musky perfume, it's enough to make your head start to ache. Nonetheless, you smile, because Olivia is Dante's mother, and you should love her. You _do_ love her.

"You look beautiful, too," you say, and it's not a lie. She's lovely. Sexy. You shouldn't let your mind go there, to the dark place where you feverishly imagine all the things she and Johnny do together in bed.

"And there's my gorgeous son," she cries, blessedly distracted before you have to look her in the eyes. Dante is right there, a few steps behind you, your new favorite shadow.

"Hey, ma," Dante says and they hug. It's touching, really. You step inside the apartment. The smell of tomatoes and garlic is strong, nearly overpowering. There are candles flickering, fresh flowers on the coffee table, a strange Thanksgiving decoration of some sort on top of the piano. It may be Johnny's place, but Olivia is everywhere, encroaching on the dark Zacchara decor. You scan the living room, then the dining room, but he's not there. You stride purposely to the kitchen, as if the store-bought cookies you're carrying are too heavy to hold much longer, but he's not in there, either. You put the cookies on the counter, still in the plastic grocery bag. You can hear Dante and Olivia from the front room, arguing about whether the wine he brought goes with red sauce.

Johnny's not here. Maybe he's not coming. The question sits on your lips as you exit the kitchen, and you almost ask Olivia where he is before the door to the bedroom opens.

His hair is wet. He's fiddling with his shirt, as if he's just pulled it on. The picture of him in the shower flashes behind your eyelids. Don't go there, Lulu.

Johnny looks up, and when he sees you, he smiles. All those warm, familiar feelings pool in your stomach and you feel like an idiot. Lovestruck. You smile instinctively back, and for the first time all night, all day, all week, the smile feels genuine.

"Lulu," he says. Just your name, but the tone is what knocks you out, the old joking lilt.

"Hey," you say, because what else is there to say? He moves forward as if to give you a hug but seems to think better of it, just pats your arm. You wish it weren't November, that you weren't wearing a heavy coat. The layers of fabric between your skin and his palm are interminable.

"How are you?" he asks, and there isn't a dictionary that contains a word for the way that you feel right now, as you meet his black brown eyes.

"Fine," you say. It's your favorite lie. You're fine.

* * *

All through the dinner, you struggle to eat. The pasta is delicious, if overly rich and a little heavy on the garlic, but you have no appetite. Your tongue is dry and heavy in your mouth and your stomach feels twisted, sour. You're thirsty, but there's no water, only wine, and you can't let yourself get drunk, let your inhibitions drop, so you only take intermittent sips.

Every few minutes, you can feel Johnny looking at you, almost long enough to be a stare. You don't talk much, and neither does he. Dante and Olivia don't seem to notice: they are too absorbed in their boisterous family stories. When Dante is distracted, you slip spaghetti from your plate to his. There's a sound from Johnny, a quick, startled chuckle. By the time you glance up, he's looked away again. The ghost of a grin lingers on his lips.

Johnny keeps touching Olivia on her arm, her hair, her hand, as if to remind himself she's there. Dante seems to feel the need to stake his territory, too. The most attention he pays to you is when you try to slide your thigh out from underneath his palm. He moves his arm up to your shoulder, and rests it there for the rest of the meal, until your back starts to ache.

"Time for dessert," Olivia says and leaves to get the cookies and cannoli.

You extract yourself from Dante. "I'll be right back. I need to you use the bathroom."

You don't actually have to use the toilet, but you needed to get away. You imagine Johnny and Dante at the table without you and Olivia, posturing, just two alpha males on display.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. You want to splash cold water on your face but are afraid to ruin your make up. Instead you turn on the faucet and rub your hands under the icy stream until they feel raw.

When you return, Johnny is putting on his coat.

"Sorry about this," he's saying. "But I need to care of this business tonight."

Dante mutters something about breaking knee caps. Everyone ignores him.

Johnny and Olivia kiss goodbye, and it seems to last an eternity. When he pulls away, he looks to you. There's no kiss, no hug, no touch.

"See you around, Lulu. Dante." He says your name and Dante's so close together, not a beat between them, as if you have merged into one monstrous creature. LuluDante.

"Bye," you say. And your voice sounds unfamiliar.

As Johnny walks out the door, Olivia starts saying something about her uncle Sal in Bensonhurst. You know it's impolite to interrupt, but…

"Dante, we need to go." He stares at you like you've just announced the coming apocalypse. "I don't feel very good."

"You look pale, honey," Olivia says. "Maybe you ate too much." If Johnny were here, he'd be laughing.

"I just… I think I'm getting a migraine."

"Dante! Take her home." It's not a request but a command.

Dante brings you your coat, dresses you as if you were a doll. "Good night, Ma."

"Good night, baby. Feel better, Lulu."

You muster a smile. "Thanks, Olivia. Good night."

As Dante walks you to the car, he says, "I'm sorry you got sick. Other than that, the night went better than I thought. You were right. We were fine."

"We're always fine," you say.


End file.
